


Shadows And Strudel

by Kitannax



Series: Overwatch Fics [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, honestly this is just fluff, mercykill if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 16:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7229332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitannax/pseuds/Kitannax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel Reyes doesn't expect to wake up in Mercy's care when by all logic, he should be dead. He also doesn't expect her to explain, or feed him. Guess old habits die hard.</p><p>(Angsty Fluff tbh)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows And Strudel

Of all the places he expected to wake up – hell (again), the inside of a jail cell, maybe even in a coffin – he would never have guessed that he would regain consciousness in a makeshift hospital bed with Angela Ziegler peering down at him nervously. A quick glance around tells him that no, he isn’t in a clinic. Of course not. He’s meant to be dead. Which means the aforementioned doctor has a lot of explaining to do. He glances down at his hands; grey???  
“Why am I grey?” His voice is a lot raspier than he remembers, too.   
Angela chews her lip. “I... honestly? I’m not sure. It’s not supposed to be. I think... I may have made a mistake.”  
He wants to point out that she’s Angela ‘Mercy’ Ziegler. She doesn’t make mistakes. But obviously she has.

“So what’s wrong with me?”  
“I think your cells are rapidly deteriorating and replenishing... you’ll be stronger. Faster. But... you’re... well... half dead.”   
You have got to be shitting me.   
Well, she tried, at least. This beats being dead, he supposes. He closes his eyes again; no point taking his foul mood out on her. 

When he regains consciousness again, he doesn’t open his eyes right away. Mostly because his mood is still fairly bleak and he gets a sense of not wanting to disappoint her or something. Huh. Another little piece of proof that not every part of Gabriel Reyes died. However, before long, the smell of food coaxes his eyes open. Back in the day, before everything went to shit, he and Angela and Jack would often eat at each other’s houses, too tired or busy to go to their separate homes. He’s always liked Angela’s cooking.   
“Ah! You’re awake again!”  
How does she do that? Even without her valkyrie wings she keeps popping up out of nowhere.   
“Guess I am.” He’s still not sure he likes this new, weird feeling, like he could choose to become non-corporeal at any moment.   
“Are you hungry? I can get you something?”   
God, he wishes she wasn’t so damn nice. Briefly, he remembers the way the old him used to speak to her sometimes. The jokes they made.  
“Blood.” He says, deadpan. And he gets a sweet reaction, approximately two and a half seconds of her face paling before he sighs. “I’m kidding.”

She gets that look on her face, the one she used to get before whacking someone round the head for taking advantage of how gullible she can be sometimes. Muttering something that sounds – from the tone, anyway – like obscenities, she disappears again in the direction of the food smell, returning a few minutes later with a tray full of food. Before he died, Reyes thinks, he would have inhaled the contents no problem. Seems like his appetite has died, too. Still, she’s made steak, the way he likes it, with the good gravy that has onions in it. Not to mention strudel. She always makes them in little plus sign shapes, like the Swiss flag or the symbol on a first aid kit. 

“I’m going to take a nap.” She informs him once he’s finished eating. “I’ve been awake for almost forty hours.”   
Jesus Christ, he thinks, forty hours just for his sorry ass? Kind of her.  
“That’s fine.” He tells her, “I’ll just... I dunno. Take a shower or something.”   
She points him in the direction of the bathroom before disappearing into what must be her room. He hasn’t been to this particular house of hers. 

He takes his time in the bathroom, putting on the clothes she’s left on the couch for him, before he sits for a minute. His shotguns are nearby. As he cleans them, he thinks.   
He can’t stay here. It’s a goddamn risk. His best option is to disappear. Even so, he doesn’t exactly feel great about it as he silently peers around her bedroom door – she’s passed out, curled in a ball on her bed with that tiny pistol she carries on the cabinet beside her. Seems even Angela is paranoid of late. That does nothing to ease his guilt; he could stay here, protect her. But it seems like a shitty idea, considering if anyone finds out he’s alive, they’ll come after her if they think she had anything to do with it. Maybe. He doesn’t want to take that risk. 

Returning to the kitchen, he finds his now-empty backpack. Fitting his gun belt to his waist, he feels much better with the shotguns strapped to his thighs. Inspection of the kitchen cabinets shows him that she has a stockpile of food, far too much for just one person. He takes canned goods, mostly, and packages. It doesn’t help that half of it is written in German, which he can’t read. Cursing irritably in Spanish as he stuffs a loaf of bread into the bag, he quietly closes the cupboards. Snagging another pastry from the tray on the bench, he shoulders his backpack, heading for the back door. 

A last minute impulse has him scrawl a paragraph on a piece of paper, leave it with the pastry tray.   
Angela,  
We both know it’s a damn foolish idea if I stay here, so I’m going AWOL. I appreciate you trying to bring me back. I have some unfinished business to take care of. If anyone asks, I’m dead.   
PS: sorry for taking off with half your food... and bleeding onto your hospital bed.   
\- GR

With only a final glance back, he disappears into the shadows of the night.


End file.
